


Beholder

by Flantastic



Category: James Bond (Movies), James Bond - All Media Types, Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Drabble, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-25
Updated: 2014-10-25
Packaged: 2018-02-22 15:08:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2512094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flantastic/pseuds/Flantastic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bond's own concept of beauty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beholder

**Author's Note:**

> I found this in my WIP folder tonight and thought I'd share. 
> 
> It's occurred to me that this little ficlet is pretty non-specific. I wrote it with Bond and Q in mind but if it fits your OTP then please have fun imagining them instead.

Beauty is a largely strange concept to you.

You mention the places you’re going to visit to people and you’ll be told “oh, it’s beautiful there” and you feel the sun when you are there and you see the blue of the sea and the green of the vegetation and the majesty of the architecture and it leaves you feeling… hollow.

You are introduced to rich women, millionaire's wives, and you are told that they are beautiful but all you see are the layers of make-up and the veneers on their teeth and the minute signs of surgery that was designed to enhance but which has actually smoothed out the edges of their humanity and it leaves you… cold.

You are given cars to drive and guns to fire, and the power excites you. The sleek lines appeal to you but there is no beauty; only design and precision.

But this…

The rumpled, week-old sheets highlighted by the dull November morning light which seeps through the badly drawn curtains. 

The glisten of sweat on pale skin, defined by horripilation and shivering in the cool air.

The smooth slide of flesh inside flesh.

The shallow panting, almost winded, as he breathes out your name.

The taste of his breath as you greedily claim kiss after kiss from him.

The slide of his calloused fingertips ghosting over your hips as you are urged faster, deeper, harder.

The curls of his dark hair sticking to his forehead. They get in your mouth and tickle your nose as you bite and lick and suck at his long throat, making your mark as you wring gasps of pleasure from him.

The scent of sour sweat and stale cigarettes and whisky mingling with bergamot and antiseptic and the distinctive smell of condoms.

The frantic crescendo as fingertips become nails, panting becomes crying out, smooth thrusting becomes fucking until everything coalesces into that one burning point when everything releases… 

That perfect moment when he arches his back and looks at you like you have surprised him. His mouth becoming a perfect ‘o’ as he comes hard between your heaving bellies.

This.

This is beauty.

This is the kind of beauty that has the power to break hearts and smash bones and raze empires to the ground. 

He is beautiful and he has you utterly captivated.

**Author's Note:**

> I hang out over on tumblr at iambid.tumblr.com. It's mainly me flailing about Ben Whishaw, Benedict Cumberbatch, photos of naked men and the occasional pussycat being cute but, you know, you're very welcome to come and find me.


End file.
